


To Hell and Back

by LopezAnnaC



Series: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Speculation, Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5708269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LopezAnnaC/pseuds/LopezAnnaC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma is on a mission to bring her one true love back from the Underworld. But is she already too late to save him?</p><p>A speculation of Season 5B: Adventure, drama, romance, and a very happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> By ACL
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own this show nor these characters.
> 
> Warnings: Spoilers for _Once Upon A Time_ , “Swan Song.”

 

“I will always find you.”

The promise was the vise on Emma’s courage. The boat’s progress was not punctuated with so much as a ripple; their robed and silent captain (the word brought a tiny smile to her lips) guided them across the endless stretch of water without acknowledgement. She caught sight of the bones of its hand on the oar, and looked away.

Another hand – a warm, living, loving one – squeezed her arm assuredly. Emma nodded to her mother, meeting the other’s steely eyes with her own grateful ones. It was moments like this that she saw the hero behind the woman, the character from the fairytale: Mary Margaret had left her own infant child to follow her daughter, and something that hurt in a wonderful way filled Emma’s chest. She looked ahead.

“We’re getting close,” Gold murmured. No one questioned how he knew. Emma heard her father shift in his seat, adjusting his sword. The mist settled onto the ground like a sheet, revealing a hillside spotted with dried grass and weeds.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Regina drawled. “Didn’t we just leave here? Don’t tell me we lost our memories all over. I am not about to play Renaissance Fair in Camelot again.” Robin tucked Regina into his side and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“No,” Gold’s clipped tone left no room for argument. “This is the Underworld.” The boat bumped against the pier, the lone lantern swinging with a mournful wail. “To the unsophisticated observer,” he paused to make sure the offense landed and was rewarded by Regina’s raised brow, “it looks familiar because this place is our reality now.”

Fear roared through Emma’s veins until she thought she might be sick. Not fear of the place (she could care less whether she was in Hell or Minnesota), but fear of the cost of her failure. The knowledge of how much was at stake... It was too horrible to consider. As soon as the boat touched shore, she leapt forward and started towards the rise. The others followed suit – gingerly or suspiciously, as their nature’s dictated – and climbed up to join her.

Emma stood there, stock still and breathing hard. Magic spat around her in the form of miniature sparks, her eyes shining. “He’s here,” she whispered, “I can feel him.”

Henry approached her cautiously, hesitating only for a moment before placing a hand on her shoulder. He sighed, relieved when no shock of magic threw him backwards. “Then let’s go find him.”


	2. Chapter Two

She wasn’t sure what she had expected – someplace cold and desolate, maybe, with bare rock and yawning pits. It was certainly desolate, but with the rising of the sun took on a heavy, humid air that made Emma’s jacket stick to her skin despite the persistent chill. Even the light was flushed pink, like the sky before a storm broke. But none of that mattered. He was here.

“I don’t understand,” David’s voice was hushed. “It looks like Storybrooke, just…”

“Broken.” Mary Margaret finished, taking an arrow from the quiver on her back instinctively.

Gold’s face remained impassive as he strode down the cracked pavement, the crumbling remains of the clock tower protruding like a tooth from a ruined mouth. The stillness was shattered by a sickening squeal as a black and white car tore down the road.

“Cruella,” Emma breathed. The car spun, hurtling towards them with unmistakable purpose. Regina shoving Henry out of harm’s way while Emma’s power flashed in a shot of white fire. A second shot, lavender, joined Emma’s and washed over the polished vehicle.

Emma glanced at Regina, who tilted her head in response. Both women widened their stance and, in unison, focused blasts of unrestrained energy from their palms. The magic only scorched the oncoming car, lighting it in a fiery blaze. Oblivious, the wreck raged towards them.

“Run!” David shouted, Emma and Regina sprinting towards the others as they dashed down the street. The car careened down the road, smashing through barriers and debris in single-minded pursuit, a trail of twisted metal and smoke billowing behind.

Robin led the way, veering into a side alley strewn with plastic bags and castoff boxes. “Where’s Gold?” Emma yelled, dodging an overturned trashcan while Regina ducked a low-hanging telephone wire.

“I think we have bigger problems at the moment,” Regina snapped. With a shuddering crash, the car followed, the heat and noise at their backs an explicit reminder of the fact. With a curse, Emma tripped over the plank from a crate and tumbled to the ground as the charred machine bore down. She threw up an arm in defense, but before she could summon a shield, a violet fog wrapped around her body, extracting her gently but firmly from the scene.

She felt cold marble press into her tender knees and found herself in the quiet of the mayor’s office. Regina, Robin, Henry, Mary Margaret, and David appeared beside her, looking similarly bewildered.

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” Emma repressed a flinch of recognition.

Mary Margaret swayed, David catching her. Regina swallowed, “Mother, you’re… _here_.”


	3. Chapter Three

“Hello, my darling,” Cora purred. “Surprised to see me?”

If Regina’s expression was to be believed, surprise didn’t even begin to cover it.

“I’m dreadfully sorry about Cruella. Some people really do hold onto a grudge,” she beckoned her daughter with a humorless laugh. “Come here and give your mother a hug.” Legs stiff, Regina complied.

“And this must be your young man! Though, not _young_ exactly…”

Robin regarded the older woman like a soldier would an oncoming legion, “Your Majesty.”

Emma had recovered enough to remember the purpose of this journey, “Cora, we are here to find someone.” She struggled ungracefully to her feet, using the desk for support. She was definitely going to hurt tomorrow.

“Oh, Ms. Swan – there are forces at play here beyond your understanding.” Cora removed herself from her daughter’s arms, settling an icy stare on Mary Margaret. “Well, this certainly is an awkward reunion.”

Mary Margaret lifted her chin defiantly, “I am sorry. I have been sorry for what I did every day since.”

“I am sure you are,” Cora’s gaze didn’t waver, until, with a sniff, she returned her attention to Emma. “And as much as I’d like to help you on your little quest, I’m afraid there isn’t much that I can do.”

“Really?” David crossed his arms, unconvinced. “And why should we believe you?”

Cora moved to her seat and turned to face him thoughtfully, “Considering whom you are married to, I’d think it rather goes both ways – don’t you?” He grunted in response, but did not lower his arms. She continued, “The Underworld is… a little unusual. Only those with unfinished business remain here. Everyone else – ” She waved a hand flippantly.

“So Killian…” Emma’s stomach dropped.

“I have no more way of telling whether your pirate is down here than you do. Though if he is,” she studied Emma through lowered lashes, “his name should appear in the cemetery.”

“Like on one of the gravestones?” Mary Margaret piped.

“Clever _and_ coldblooded. Too bad we never got along; you and I could have been great allies.” The horror on Mary Margaret’s face was everything Cora had hoped for. “Though, even then, there may still be one more teeny, tiny complication.”

Henry Sr., Regina’s father, stepped into the room, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. “Daddy,” Regina blanched, holding onto Robin with white knuckles. “You too?”

Oblivious, the man offered the tray to Cora, who took a cup and poured. A choked sound escaped Regina, while Cora selected a biscuit, “The trouble is, those with unfinished business have just that: no other hopes, dreams, desires… or memories.”

Henry Sr. straightened, and presented the tray to Regina with features void of recognition, “My lady? Tea?” Devastation filled his daughter’s eyes, who exited the room with a sharp, sudden movement.

Cora sighed and sipped her tea, “As you can see, Ms. Swan, it is not as simple as you might have imagined. You may find the man you remember, but he may not remember you.”


	4. Chapter Four

By some miracle, Emma, Mary Margaret, and David reached the cemetery without incident. Henry and Robin had volunteered to stay back with Regina, who hadn’t returned to the mayor’s office after the meeting with Henry Sr. Gold, too, had yet to appear (not that Emma spared him any concern after everything he’d done).

The graves sat identical in perfect rows, stretching over the gentle hills as far as the eye could see. “I guess a lot of people have unfinished business,” Emma muttered, before straightening. “OK, let’s do this.” 

The three fanned out, examining each stone’s name – mostly unfamiliar, with the occasional hum of recognition. Hours passed; or, at least, Emma thought they did. It was difficult to tell in the sickly, flushed glow of the Underworld. 

She would’ve guessed that her parents knew many of the names written, but all she could think about was Killian. The doubts rolled endlessly through her mind: Had he known what Gold had done, even as he died in her arms? Would it have been enough for him to stay? 

She hadn’t realized that she was crying until a rough finger brushed the tear from her cheek. She glanced up into her father’s kind eyes. “Dad,” she couldn’t finish the sentence, but David seemed to understand, pulling Emma against his chest and wrapping his strong arms around her. 

“He’s here somewhere, Emma. Don’t worry,” she felt Mary Margaret stroke her hair. “You’ve already sensed it with your magic. You just have to trust yourself.” 

Emma pulled back, nodding and blinking back the last of her tears, “I’m fine, really.” Her parents traded a look and she laughed wetly. “I am, I just…” She gasped as a pain yanked at her chest. 

“Emma?” Mary Margaret's brows knit worriedly. 

“I’m fine, I just…” There, again, the pain towed her. She took a step, following. The tugging lessened briefly, then resumed – stronger than before. In surges, Emma made her away across the cemetery to the highest point, finally ending in front of a single grave. She knelt involuntarily, catching sight of the name carved in large, capital letters: KILLIAN JONES. 

David and Mary Margaret reached her, alarm turning to relief as Emma rest her forehead above Killian's name. “I knew it,” Mary Margaret beamed, before gazing down over the unbroken stretch of gravestones. “David, is that... Mr. Gold?” 

The trio watched as a figure swung a walking stick into one of the monuments, a ring of rubble growing around his feet. Without a word, they picked their way down the rise, Gold’s anguished howls growing louder as they neared. 

“Gold!” David spoke with unopposed authority. “What are you doing?” 

“Why wouldn’t he be here?! How could he have gone?!” Gold wept openly, his walking stick making rhythmic whacks as the stone gave in to the violence and crumbled. 

“Who?” Mary Margaret asked, at once unsettled and compassionate for the tortured man. 

“My boy, Bae. Oh, my poor boy…” Guilt dug at Emma; she hadn’t even considered Neal might be here. Gold’s sobs changed into a hiss, “And _her_. She’s the one who stayed.” 

“Who stayed?” David demanded, hands out as if approaching a wild animal. With a grief-stricken moan, Gold disappeared in a puff of crimson smoke. 

“What was that about?” Mary Margaret asked, breathless. 

Emma toed the last remaining gravestone, upright among the ruins. “My guess? This.” 

There, written large, capital letters was a word: MILAH.


	5. Chapter Five

They met at Granny’s, or at least the place where Granny’s would have been. The inside of the diner was familiar, but was run by a gentleman with a shock of grey hair and Granny’s same, wide nose. A nervous, young man with darting eyes waited on them, serving their drinks without chitchat (much to Emma’s relief).

Regina sat across from her, propped on either side by Robin and Henry. Distracted and withdrawn, she seemed to draw strength from the two. Emma was touched to see her parents arrange themselves similarly on either side of her: _Probably part of some pact among the four of them_ , Emma mused. _‘Operation Panda,’ or something._

She shifted uncomfortably – she didn’t like feeling so fragile all the time, and definitely not in front of other people. She needed to pull herself together. She needed a plan. 

“I know where Hook is,” Emma announced, clutching the mug in her hands. “I’m going to go talk to him, today.” 

“Great!” Mary Margaret chirped, “When do we leave?” 

“I’m going alone.” 

David frowned, but Robin interjected to diffuse the situation, “And we will all stay close by, just in case.” With a protest from Emma, he added, “Forgive me, but it seems that we are not the most well-liked of visitors here. Just a precaution.” 

She rose. “Fine, but only come interfere if it’s an emergency. A _real_ emergency,” she emphasized to Mary Margaret, who looked mutinous. Stripping off her jacket, she strode out of the diner and towards the docks. 

Although she saw no one, it was hard to shake the feeling of being watched. The color in the sky remained unchanged, and Emma began to wonder if time passed differently here. Space certainly did, as the mast of the Jolly Roger soon towered into view. The lump at the back of her throat caught, but new determination carried her forward. 

The ship was magnificent, as always. The scent of polished wood and linen mingled with the salt on the breeze in a way Emma couldn’t describe. Steeling herself, she reached for the rail when a quiet “a-hem” stopped Emma in her tracks. 

“Can I help you?” A middle-aged woman with severe, aquiline features intercepted her, gray eyes unreadable. 

“I’m looking for Hook,” Emma’s replied evenly, her smile polite. _Milah._

“Apologies, I don’t know anyone by that name.” Milah waited, Emma clearly being dismissed. 

“Thank you anyway,” Emma began up the gangplank. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Milah followed, irritated. Emma ignored her, checking over the deck for any sign of Killian. The sound of a sword unsheathed forced her to halt; Milah leveled the weapon at Emma’s chest. “I really must insist,” she crooned. 

“What’s all this?” 

The intonation raised goose bumps on Emma’s skin; she shivered unconsciously. Footsteps approached: heavy, leather boots stopping just behind her back. “Come now, Milah love, is that anyway to treat a guest?” 

Numb, Emma turned and found the face that had tracked her in New York, the face that had called her his “happy ending,” the face she held cradled in her arms while contorted in pain. She inhaled. 

Killian’s expression faltered a moment, then steadied, “And… who might you be?”


	6. Chapter Six

She was beautiful, in a timeless, ageless way that was no threat to his relationship with Milah. Milah was the kind of woman you kept, but her – Killian was under no misconception that the blonde standing in front of him could belong to anyone, let alone a one-handed pirate.

Still, she drank him in with a level of reverence he knew he did not deserve. Minuscule bolts of lightning played across her frame – magic, Killian realized – as she trembled. Milah yelped as a spark jumped across to the tip of her sword, dropping the weapon with a clang. The other woman gave no notice. 

“Killian,” she spoke his name like a prayer, “it really is you.” 

He smirked, suspecting he was dangerously out of his depth. “At your service, milady. Have we met?” 

Before she could reply, a high, whining voice cut in: “How nice, all my little fishies in one barrel.” 

Rumpelstiltskin perched on the ship’s yard, sneering at the group below. “A pretty way to tie up the loose ends. Don’t you agree, Ms. Swan?” 

Killian winced, his head throbbing dully, “Aye Crocodile, this won’t do. What do you say to coming down and letting me kill you properly?” 

The “Swan” girl stiffened, shooting a warning glance his way. Killian bowed, “Pardon me, but duty calls.” 

Contrarily, she pushed ahead of him, “Your fight is with me, Rumpelstiltskin. Leave Hook out of it.” Killian was taken aback by her informality, even more so by her nerve. Not many lasses volunteered to tangle with the Dark One. 

“Is that so?” Rumpelstiltskin materialized on deck, Milah’s sword in hand. “Well, dearie, as it is, I very much plan on killing you too: We can’t chance Belle finding out about our private agreement.” He exhaled dramatically, “But, alas, all in due time…” He darted forward, the sword slicing across Killian’s throat. 

“No!” The blonde woman rammed into him unceremoniously. The sword bit deep into her side, blood soaking the thin fabric of her blouse. 

“Dear Ms. Swan, when will you learn that you cannot save your _pirate_?” Rumpelstiltskin wiped the blade delicately on her clothes. She groaned, pressing the wound as it bled into a warm pool underneath her. “I am the most powerful Dark One in history. Do you imagine that you can defeat me?” 

“Not defeat,” she grimaced, propping herself on an elbow as her hand slipped in the blood. “Just… knock out.” With one last glimpse towards Killian, a white-hot explosion tore from the woman straight into Rumpelstiltskin. He crumpled to the ground. 

Killian knelt by the woman and supported her unconscious body, trying to abate the steady stream of blood. The ache in his head grew exponentially. “Milah, dearest,” he ordered, “if you would retrieve some assistance.” Milah, who had been watching the whole affair with an open mouth, took off at a run. 

It was an ugly wound, but it seemed to have missed anything important. He studied her strange face, squinting from his building migraine, and wondered who this Ms. Swan really was, and, most curious of all, why she had sacrificed herself to protect him.


	7. Chapter Seven

Milah burst into the mayor’s office, black curls streaming behind her like a cloak. “We need to talk.”

“Can I help you, my dear?” Cora did not lift her eyes from the parchment spread open on the desk.

“What was that wretched _Swan_ girl doing onboard the Jolly Roger?!” Her cheeks colored in barely-controlled rage. “You swore –”

“I ensured,” Cora interrupted, “that Hook would not remember anything from his former life. Save your charming self, of course.”

Milah hesitated, livid but doubtful. Long-sufferingly, Cora rolled up the scroll, “Did Hook recognize Ms. Swan or didn’t he?”

“No, but –”

“Did he go running into his beloved’s arms, happily reunited at last?”

Milah’s eyes narrowed, “ _I_ am his beloved.”

“I am sure that you are,” Cora’s lips twitched. “So it seems the memory potion I have been providing you with has been more than adequate, does it not?”

“Yes, but –”

Cora slapped the parchment on the desk, silencing Milah. “Then I suggest,” she spoke with deadly care, “that you leave here immediately before someone chances to see you.”

Milah walked out.

* * *

As luck would have it, several passersby were at hand shortly after the confrontation on the Jolly Roger. A young couple – by all appearances the same age as the blonde woman – claimed to be her parents, while a dark-haired woman set about using magic to heal her wounds. Killian had seen many strange things during his life on the open seas, but this might have exceeded them all.

He also knew it was bad form to intrude in what was clearly a personal matter, but he could not bring himself to part with the Swan girl until he confirmed her welfare. He attempted half-heartedly to convince himself that it was merely good manners, but the agony in his head suggested otherwise.

Only the young lad paid him any heed, observing Killian with mild curiosity. “What happened, exactly?”

“I believe that the Dark One did not take kindly to me acquiring his wife. Though it’s always nice to make an impression.”

The boy’s brow furrowed, but before he could respond the dark-haired woman called to him: The Swan girl would recover, but she needed rest. Killian discreetly took his leave before the lad could pose any more questions; he wasn’t sure that he could answer them.


	8. Chapter Eight

“There’s something wrong with Hook,” Henry asserted, back at Granny’s. Emma and Gold had been transferred to separate rooms upstairs to recuperate, Gold comatose with “one hell of a sleeping curse,” according to Regina.

“Why do you say that?” Mary Margaret asked, surprised.

“Because back on the ship, he acted like he didn’t even know me. And he disappeared right after Mom healed Emma.”

“You remember what Cora said, though,” David slid into the booth next to Henry. “People here only retain the memories of their unfinished business.”

Henry argued, “But Emma _is_ his unfinished business – how can he not remember her?”

“Better yet, why do we believe my _mother_?” Regina placed a hand on her son’s shoulders, “Henry’s right: There is something strange going on here. And I’m going to find out what it is.”

* * *

He wasn’t prying, per se. He was actually acting quite responsible, calling on the woman who had nearly given her life for him. If he happened to overhear what the company she kept discussed, it was purely coincidental:

“Don’t you think we should wait for Emma to wake up first?” For some reason the name pulled the air right out of Killian’s lungs; he stifled a cough.

“She isn’t the only person with loved ones down here, Princess,” the dark-haired woman retorted. “Plus, I know my mother. If she has been up to something, I’ll be able to find out.”

Furtively, he slipped back into the diner’s rear hall and up the worn staircase to the rooms. He had spent some time below deck, reviewing the logs and trying to put the whole business out of mind. He was content with this place, setting sail whenever the inclination struck, Milah by his side. She was a challenging woman – not a day went by when they didn’t exchange cross words – but she loved the untroubled life they had built together.

Except this Swan – this Emma – understood something that he could only guess at. And the not knowing was effectively driving him mad.

“Killian?” her sleep-heavy voice called from the bed. He had not realized he was standing in her open doorway.

“Aye, love,” he took a tentative step inside, pulling the door closed behind him. “Are you on the mend?” A tired murmur and a pale, small arm appeared from the covers. Killian allowed the arm to capture his own, drawing him to rest timidly on the edge of the bed. Emma brushed her lips against his palm as she slept, nestling his one good hand like a favored toy. Killian held perfectly motionless.

“Now Swa – Emma,” he corrected, “What am I to you?”

She smiled, eyes closed, “You’re my love, silly. The love of my life.”

His hand squeezed. Softly, he rumbled, “And what, Emma, are you to me?”

With that her eyes snapped open, searching his own, “Killian?” The word was tiny, afraid.

“What are you to me?” he insisted, face intent. “Who are you, Emma Swan?” She released his hand as he stood, pacing the room in exasperation. “Yesterday, I was perfectly satisfied with my life, but now…” He halted, helpless. “Now I just don’t know anymore. Every time that I see you it feels like my bloody head is going to explode!”

“You don’t remember me.” It wasn’t a question.

“And why did the Crocodile try to kill us?” Killian demanded, upset but not sure as to why. “He killed my Milah, he killed me, once already. Why follow us here?” She didn’t answer, staring despondently down at the quilt. He stalked out.

On the staircase outside, Killian exhaled, running his thumb over his palm. He was ashamed; his temper had risen out of nowhere. All he had wanted to do was thank the poor lass – what on earth had compelled him to behave so disgracefully?

Hearing voices rising from below, he shook his head and continued down. Since meeting Emma Swan, Killian felt as if he were being torn apart at the seams. He needed answers, and he knew where he could find them.


	9. Chapter Nine

Emma eased the jacket over her tender side. Nearly being hit by a car, then being stabbed by a sword – she’d definitely had better days. But Killian was hurting, too. As much as her body protested, he needed her more.

“I never took you for being selfish, Ms. Swan.” Cora emerged from a cloud of violet smoke, reclining on the overstuffed settee.

“Cora,” Emma warned. “Not to be rude, but this is a really bad time.”

“Ah yes, you are off to valiantly return the memories of your lost love – whether he wants them or not.”

“I’m here to save Hook,” Emma bit back, wrestling on a boot. “Gold –”

“I have no doubt that Rumpelstiltskin took some measure in Hook’s untimely death.” Cora hummed sympathetically, “But our Captain Hook isn’t under a curse. Here, he is victim only of his own desires. Desires to be rid of _you_.”

Ice gripped Emma’s heart. “You’re wrong.”

“I wonder, Ms. Swan: How many times are you going to make that poor man bend to your will? You already took his ship, his dignity – even his right to die. Now you won’t allow him his afterlife?”

Emma stilled, her other boot on the floor. “Just an observation, dear.” Cora rose, languidly, “As it were, I actually stopped by with a little something for you.” She produced a tiny, black vial. “A potion, one that will erase our fair captain from your memory at last. You can both, finally, be happy.”

Cora placed the vial on the nightstand, “Just give it a thought. You’ve caused so much heartache already; perhaps it’s finally time you let go once and for all.”

* * *

 

Killian contemplated the tumbler in his hand, tipping the amber liquid this way and that. Milah’s voice shouted his name above deck, eventually finding him the dark of the captain’s quarters.

“There you are! Didn’t you hear me?” Killian didn’t stir.

“Where were you?” His tone was casual, his expression anything but.

“I went to find help, of course,” Milah played at hanging her coat on the peg overhead, withdrawing instead a small bottle from her pocket. “By the time I returned, you had gone yourself. I trust the girl was well tended to?”

Killian finished his drink, setting the tumbler down with a sudden change of mood. “What do you say you and I settle down? We can find a place of our own, maybe somewhere near the water, and retire from adventuring a while.”

Milah laughed nervously, removing the empty glass and refilling it with a few fingers of rum, “Have you gone daft? Whyever would I want to do that?”

“Consider it, darling: Just the two of us – growing old.” A shadow hid his eyes from view, “It is me you love, after all. Not my position, or a life on the seas. Here’s our chance to truly _appreciate_ each other.”

“Killian, you’re acting ridiculous,” Milah’s amusement rang false. “Did something happen today? Something that you’d like to discuss?”

“No, nothing,” Killian leaned back in his seat, stretching out long legs. “Just had an insightful discussion this afternoon with a bright, young lad. He had some intriguing opinions.”

Milah turned her back to the man, tipping a few drops from the small bottle into the drink. “You don’t say,” she returned the bottle to her pocket. “Well, that sounds stimulating indeed.” She handed him the tumbler with a hard-edged smile. “What do you say you share them over another drink? Bottoms up.”


	10. Chapter Ten

The vault was bitterly cold, but empty; Regina counted her blessings. “What are you up to, Mother…” she muttered, running fingers over the collection of flasks and jars of ingredients.

The bookshelf by the door held enough glass bottles for a small army: _Why would anyone need so many memory potions?_ Regina wondered, making her way across to a worktable, recently cleared off. The bench held the remains of a complicated spell, Regina pinching some of discarded powder between her fingers and examining it. 

“Regina? Sweetheart?” A hoarse voice called from a cell tucked in the shadows. Regina spun – behind her, Henry Sr. was shackled against the stone wall. 

“Daddy? You recognize me?” she faltered. 

“Of course I do, dearest.” He reached weakly through the bars, “I am so sorry if I caused you any distress. Your mother has been keeping me under a memory potion.” 

“She what?!” Regina shouted. 

Henry Sr. hushed her, peering around fretfully, “Please, listen: We don’t have much time. Cora has been using memory potions to deceive everyone. I don’t know how, but she needs your friend Emma’s magic to get back to your world.” 

The pieces clicked into place. “I know how,” Regina growled, dusting the powder from her fingers. “She created a potion that can steal magic. She’s going to use it on Emma, and kill her in the process.” 

The tension melted from Henry Sr.’s face, “I just needed to warn you, sweetheart. Protecting you from your mother was, well… it was my unfinished business.” 

Regina started, grasping her father’s hand as he rapidly vanished into the darkness. “Daddy?” 

He patted her hand comfortingly, “Don’t fret - you have friends now, and a family who loves you.” 

“But what about you?” Regina clutched at the fading ghost of her father. 

“Don’t worry about me, little one. Now I can finally be at peace.” With that, he was gone. 

Regina did not know how long she stood, staring into the empty cell. With a shudder, she roused herself: She needed to warn Emma. 

“I see your father ruined the surprise,” Cora surveyed dryly. “It’s amazing how, even in death, he manages to let me down one last time.” 

“Is it true?” Regina snarled at her mother, anger rolling off of her in waves. “Are you trying to return to our world?” 

“Would that be so terrible, having your only mother back?” Cora reacted with mock offense. 

“Not if it means sacrificing the life of my friend!” Regina spat. Violet magic squeezed the air around her, binding her in place. 

“Clearly, Regina, you are being deaf to reason,” Cora clucked with disappointment. “I can no more force Ms. Swan to drink that potion than you. It has to be taken of her own free will in order to work – you know that.” Regina struggled ferociously, unable to speak. “But soon Ms. Swan will drink that potion, and then? You and I can return to the real world – together again.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

Their house was there, in the Underworld. The yard was untended, and one of the windows was broken, but it was there. The sky thundered overhead, pink deepening to a foreboding shade of red as a few, fat droplets began to fall.

Emma stepped inside. Despite the neglect, the inside was as peaceful as she remembered: graceful, hardwood floors and wide, white windows facing the sea. 

_I don’t want to lose you._

The rain started to come down in earnest. 

_And I don’t want to lose you._

The wind moaned through the cracked glass. 

_But you have to let me go._

He had asked her that one thing, hadn’t he? Cora was wrong – she wasn’t selfish, she was much worse. 

She laid on the thick, suede couch, removing the potion from her jacket. The storm had really broken now, the roots of the trees groaning against the buffeting gale. 

_Let me die a hero. That’s the man I want you to remember, please._

The vial was cool to the touch. She tipped the liquid into her mouth, a tear trailing down her chin. 

“Emma!” 

That wasn’t imagined. That was very real. Emma bolted up: A living, breathing Killian Jones stood silhouetted in the doorway, his grin dazzling as his rain-soaked hair dripped idly to the floor. “Emma, love, I remember now. I remember everything.” 

Emma tried to stand, her knees buckling under her. 

The smile wiped from his face, replaced with fear. Killian surged forward, cradling Emma in his arms, “What is it, Swan? What’s happening?” 

“Supposed to be… memory potion.” She paled, magic leeching from her body in a halo of silver. “Wanted you… happy.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you, love?” Killian’s voice was gravelly. “You are my happy ending, in this or any realm.” 

She smiled dimly, eyes closing. “I love you.” 

“And I, you.” Her chest stilled. “No,” he whispered, then louder “NO!” He crushed her body against his own. “Please, love. Not yet.” Shakily, Killian lowering his lips to hers. 

At first, nothing happened. Then, with a sound like chiming of bells, Emma’s heart rose free from her chest. Killian shaded his eyes, the heart suspended in glittering light and spinning rapidly. With a slow toll, the heart broke into two – each half returning first to Emma, then Killian. 

Warmth spread across Killian’s frame, Emma’s heart beating steadily inside. “Come on, lass. Come back to me,” he begged, brushing a strand of hair from her face. 

She jerked, lungs greedy for air, and he chuckled through his tears. “We’ve really got to work on our communication skills,” Emma groused, wearily. Laughing, Killian kissed her again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading. If you've enjoyed this story, please leave a comment.


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